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Chapter 38: Why is There One Missing?
The next day, a hungover Theodore was almost late.
As soon as he sat down, a refreshed Bernie pushed a cup of coffee toward him.
Theodore was once again amazed by Bernie's incredible ability to recover. He held the coffee and looked around, pointing to the empty corner seat and asking Bernie, "Sam didn't come?"
Bernie shook his head. "Maybe he overslept."
Theodore finished his coffee, checked the time, and realized it had already been an hour since work started.
He got up and went to Sam's desk, helped him take the organized case files to be archived, and upon returning, was gradually surrounded by his colleagues.
The Homicide Team office was lively today.
Theodore had once again proved his capability, earning a chorus of 'wow's.
Colleagues began actively asking him for advice.
They didn't trouble Theodore to follow cases from beginning to end like Case 600113; they just needed a little hint from the 'ghost.'
Theodore selected three cases and took the case files. He needed to read them carefully first.
Profiling wasn't a panacea.
He spent the entire morning reading case files and took time during lunch to document the cases.
He hadn't finished writing about the previous case yet, so he decided to use this break to document Holt and Roy.
However, he had only written two paragraphs when Bernie called him to the gym.
After sweating it out in the gym all afternoon, as quitting time approached, Theodore finally remembered Sam.
Sam was usually very low-key, almost invisible in the Homicide Team. Theodore asked his colleagues, but no one had even noticed whether he had come in or not.
Theodore went to check the attendance record and found that Sam had come in today.
Bernie glanced at it and urged Theodore to leave quickly.
"Probably his jerk brother is back."
"Brother?" Theodore was confused.
Bernie pushed him toward the parking lot, explaining, "That's the partner he's always thinking about."
"They're twins. His brother is named Jacob."
After a pause, Bernie reminded Theodore, "That jerk is not like Sam. He's a rat, single-mindedly wanting to join the FBI."
Theodore said, "Joining the FBI isn't wrong, is it?"
Bernie's voice raised slightly. "Of course there's nothing wrong with joining the FBI! But he shouldn't neglect his regular job just to join the FBI!"
He immediately lowered his voice back to normal, complaining, "He pushes all his work onto Sam, while he's completely focused on studying how to pass the FBI selection process. The result? Heh. He took the test three times in a row, and was rejected by the FBI all three times!"
"Serves him right!"
Bernie concluded.
The next day.
Sam's figure was still nowhere to be seen.
Even his twin brother was not to be found.
This time, even Bernie frowned. Theodore suggested checking the attendance record, and Bernie looked at him with a strange expression.
"That stuff is filled out for us by the guy in charge of attendance," Bernie whispered. "He can imitate dozens of different handwriting styles."
Theodore was speechless. So only he was honestly signing the attendance sheet every day. No wonder that person always looked at him strangely.
However, not seeing Sam for two consecutive days, Bernie also felt it was somewhat strange.
He temporarily modified Theodore's training plan, and the two decided to go to Sam's house to check.
Sam lived in a Mexican community in the West District.
The environment here was below average for the West District, dirty, chaotic, old, cramped, and messy. Compared to Theodore's apartment, this place was like a five-star hotel.
As for Bernie's house, that was at the level of a luxury resort.
Homicide Team detectives' salaries weren't high, but they were definitely enough to move out of here.
Theodore couldn't understand why Sam insisted on living here.
The residents here should all be of Mexican descent. They were very wary of strangers, and the way they stared at the two made them very uncomfortable.
That feeling was awkward, making one's hair stand on end involuntarily.
Bernie stood at Sam's door, banging loudly on the wooden door, but there was no answer from inside.
Someone from next door did come out. It was a burly middle-aged man who stood at his doorway, looking wary, and told them that Sam wasn't home and hadn't been for the past two days.
Theodore wanted to ask something else, but this man just urged them to leave quickly and warned them, "You are not welcome here."
The two got back into the car, and for a moment, they looked at each other in silence.
"How did he join the FOP?" Theodore suddenly thought of this question and asked.
Bernie started the car, his tone somewhat subdued. "Although he's also an FOP member, he's different from us."
"He doesn't have the power to get promoted, nor can he vouch for newcomers, and he only enjoys a portion of the immunity. Del Rio Funeral Home is also not very willing to customize coffins for him."
"He's the only non-white person in the Felton chapter."
The drive back was somewhat silent.
Except for the Patrol Department, which had specific requirements, the attendance in other police departments was very lenient.
Sometimes, if someone suddenly left for a few days due to personal matters, colleagues would tacitly help cover for them. This situation usually passed after the person returned and bought everyone a round of drinks.
For a moment, neither of them knew if Sam was just away on personal matters or if something had indeed happened.
Being a police officer in this era was a high-risk profession.
Bernie advocated not making a fuss and waiting a few days for Sam to come back on his own.
Theodore, however, shook his head. "I think we should notify Mr. Wenner."
Bernie's expression changed, and he looked at him nervously, afraid that he would start describing things as he had in the previous cases.
Theodore saw this; he had now completely given up on 'correcting' Bernie.
"Sam is a meticulous person. Even if he had to leave due to personal matters, he could have gone to the police station to say something, or called, or if there wasn't enough time, he could have asked a neighbor for help."
"He has a lot of prestige in that community. When we knocked, many people were secretly peeking through their doors."
Bernie frowned, his voice deep as he asked, "Are you saying Sam is missing?"
Theodore did not disagree with this assessment.
In this era, being missing was basically equivalent to being dead.
Wenner wasn't there; he had been very busy these past two days, only showing up briefly each day before leaving.
Chief Widdek wasn't there either. This one was even more elusive than Wenner.
Cahill was there, but neither Bernie nor Theodore would go to him.
A colleague told them that Chief Widdek and Wenner had gone to headquarters, seemingly to discuss the matter of the Deputy Police Chief, and were expected back in the afternoon.
The two didn't want to wait around and decided to start investigating themselves.
Theodore analyzed briefly and decided to start with the Old Gun Bar.
They had gotten drunk at the Old Gun Bar that night, and Sam disappeared the next day.
Upon arriving at the Old Gun Bar, Theodore was surprised to find that it was open in the morning.
It was very quiet inside, with no customers, and the owner was asleep slumped over the bar.
Bernie woke up the owner and asked about that night's situation.
The owner poured himself a drink and downed it, clearing his head considerably, not understanding what these two wanted.
Bernie said with a serious expression, "Sam didn't come to work the next day, and it's the same today. There's no one at his house either. We suspect he might be missing."
The owner immediately frowned. He didn't answer their question but grabbed the walkie-talkie on the bar and tuned it to the police channel.
"This is the Old Gun Bar. Whoever was on duty the night before last, come over immediately."
After a brief silence, responses of 'Received' and 'On my way' came intermittently from the walkie-talkie.
The owner seemed dissatisfied with their casual responses and shouted into the walkie-talkie, "Fuck off! Faster! Don't make me shove a gun up your ass!"
The responses from the walkie-talkie immediately became enthusiastic and high-pitched.
"Yes, sir!"
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